He Smiled at Me
by Grey Marquise
Summary: “I am merely a poor boy, and I have no gift fit to give my King, but let me honor Him the only way I can. Let me play my drum for Him.” Thoughts of the man who witnessed Jesus' birth and death. *One-shot*


**A/N:** This was an assignment for my literature class. We had to write a short Christmas tale using these three words: _snow, sled,_ and _little drummer boy_. This was my attempt.

**He Smiled at Me**

"_A king, a king is born," the voices sang. The voices were unearthly—inhuman, even—in their beauty and intensity. "Come, little one, come see the newborn king. Honor him; lay your finest gifts before Him. Come and worship Him in Bethlehem. Come."_

Thirteen-year-old Mattan woke with a start, the voices ringing in his ears. _Come_. With a groan and a shiver, he left the warmth of his bed and went to the window. _Come_. It was still dark outside, but the black sky was ablaze with stars. _Come_. As was expected in the early cold months on Mount Hermon, snow lay on the ground, white and beautiful. _Come_.

A thousand thoughts raced through the boy's head. _Come_. He had a younger brother and three sisters; they would be able to care for his family throughout the harsh winter if he left. _Come_. His father had taken him to Jerusalem twice before, and Bethlehem wasn't much further; he could find his way again. _Come_. His family had two sleds, but they only used one; surely they wouldn't need the second sled. _Come_. The voices had sounded heavenly, angelic; he knew when to listen and obey. _Come_.

Mattan turned away from the window and began to gather a few things, but he paused when he saw the drum lying beside his bed. His father had helped him make the instrument two years earlier. The rounded sides of the drum were made of a dark-colored wood; animal skin was pulled taut across the top and held in place with ropes. He knew he should bring a gift, he just had no idea what to give the newborn child. The drum was his pride and joy, but he doubted it would be good enough for a king—kings deserved gold and expensive gifts, of which he had none—but he placed it in his sack anyway. If nothing else, he could amuse himself with it. When he was dressed and packed, he whispered a good-bye to his sleeping family and walked out the door.

_Come_, the angels had told him. He would come.

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For a week, Mattan battled the fierce winter snows in his little sled as he inched toward the base of the mountain. It was hard work, far more difficult than he had anticipated. During the day, the icy snow threatened to rub his face raw, and at night, the cold nearly froze him to death. Thankfully, his sled provided a little shelter from the wind and the snow while he slept.

Eventually, though, the land leveled out and the snow stopped blowing, so he left his sled with a kind family in Caesarea Philippi. He could pick it up on his way home.

From there, Mattan walked south, following the brightest star in the sky. He didn't know why this star seemed so important, but he let it guide him nonetheless. As he passed Jerusalem nearly a month and a half after he left home, he realized that the star's guidance had never failed him.

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The stable was small, smelly, and rundown. As Mattan stood outside the wooden building, a home to the lowliest of animals, he questioned his instructions for the first time. The angels had spoken of a king; what king would live in a stable? Nevertheless, he pushed aside his doubts and gathered up his drum.

When he entered the stable, he stopped. The scene laid out before him was nothing like the one he had imagined.

Beside the manger lay a woman, perhaps only two or three years older than Mattan himself. Her face was tired, but she seemed incredibly happy. A man stood behind her, his beard still new and rather straggly, his hand on her shoulder. But it was the baby in the mother's arms that caught Mattan's attention.

The child was tiny, only a month or two old, and was wrapped in simple white cloth. One of His tiny hands was wrapped around His mother's finger; the other was curled up in His blankets. On His face and in His eyes was a look, the likes of which Mattan had never before seen; He seemed to be the embodiment of knowledge, compassion, power, holiness, and a dozen other things that Mattan had no name for. This was a king, _the_ king, Mattan knew.

Mattan fell to his knees beside the child and bowed his head. "Lady," he said, "I am merely a poor boy, and I have no gift fit to give my King, but let me honor Him the only way I can. Let me play my drum for Him."

Mary nodded, a smile on her face. "I think that would be His favorite gift."

So Mattan gave his gift to Jesus: he played his drum for the little King. He played his best for Him. And when He smiled at him, Mattan knew he would never forget that moment.

----- Roughly thirty-three years later -----

The man was nailed to a cross. His entire body was beaten and bloody, a crown of thorns lay on His head, a hastily constructed sign proclaiming Him the "King of the Jews" mocked Him. He was dying.

A man in the crowd surrounding the cross pushed his way forward. "Jesus!" he cried. There were so many things Mattan wanted to say to his Teacher, his King, but he suspected that Jesus already knew them.

Even in the midst of His agony, Jesus turned His head toward the little drummer boy. And He smiled at him.

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**A/N:** Just a few informational notes on the story

_* Mattan_ means "gift" in Hebrew.

* Mount Hermon's southern slopes are under Israeli control, although its summit is under Syrian control. It is the tallest mountain in the area (its peak is 9,230 ft above sea level), and it is covered in snow in the winter and spring.

* Caesarea Philippi is a Biblical town located at the southwestern base of the mountain.

* This story assumes that Jesus was born in late September of 4 B.C.

* The Magi are said to have seen the star in 7 B.C. and arrived in Bethlehem in 4 B.C.


End file.
